Yesterday's Promise (12 page)

Rogan thought of John Sheehan. His hand was still on the doorknob, gripping it hard.

“Julien will get Henry's map over my dead body.”

Parnell went white around the mouth. “Don't even joke like that.”

His brother's response did more to shake Rogan than anything he'd heard. A moment of silence passed between them, like a ripple of wind passing through an open window. Rogan deliberately smiled to ease the tension.

His mind went back aboard ship to the pages from Henry's diary: “When it comes to diamonds and gold, I'd trust him no more than a banded cobra.”

They looked at each other soberly, then Rogan threw the door open and walked out.

He was sure now that his brother would not tell Julien that he'd found the map. Ambitious, Parnell was; Darinda, he wanted. But it was now clear that Parnell feared Julien in a far more serious way than Arcilla feared him. Arcilla was apprehensive over Julien's interference in her frivolous social life. But Parnell feared him because he was convinced Julien could commit murder if anyone got in his way.

A week later, Sir Lyle Chantry and his maiden sister, Lady Elosia, conducted a meeting in the Rookswood parlor with Dr. and Mrs. Tisdale, and Vicar Osgood and his wife, Martha. Mrs. Croft was there as well, sitting in a corner wringing her hands. She knew her eyes were red-rimmed from crying as she twisted her damp handkerchief, now and then blotting her pointed nose.

When Evy had not shown up for Allhallows Eve Supper at the parish hall, she had grown worried and sent Wally to the cottage.

“In the rain, Mrs. Croft?”

“In the rain, Wally. Now, scat with you. She should've been here by now.”

“Aye, then you be saving me some of that pumpkin pie, else it'll soon be gone.”

“Run along. I'll save you a piece.”

He had come running back dripping wet, eyes wide, yelling that Miss Evy was dead. It had taken some minutes to quiet everyone down to discover that Wally wasn't sure that Evy was dead, but to him she sure looked it. He said he found her lying in an awful state at the bottom of the attic steps, and he didn't think she was breathing.

Dr. Tisdale and Sir Lyle had rushed to the cottage with a few of the
leading citizens of Grimston Way. Mrs. Croft had followed, arriving some twenty minutes later, huffing and puffing her way along the edge of the muddy road through wind and rain, all the time her heart in her throat and a prayer for the mercies of God upon her trembling lips. By the time she entered the bungalow, she was in such a state of exhaustion and emotional distress that Dr. Tisdale had Mrs. Tisdale treat her with a mild sleeping powder while he gave his full attention to Evy. Mrs. Croft lay down on the divan and remembered nothing until her niece Lizzie shook her awake an hour later.

She awakened to a cup of strong tea and Lizzie hovering about her like a nervous swallow. Lizzie had come down from Rookswood with the latest news and to bring Mrs. Croft up to Rookswood. Dear Evy was not dead, although she was gravely injured.

“The poor darlin' lost her footing, she did. It were dreadful, Aunt Edna, just dreadful. I was there when they carried her up the stairs and put her in her old room near the nursery.”

Lizzie told her how the squire and Lady Elosia had insisted Evy be brought immediately to Rookswood. They had put her in the very bedroom she had used as a girl when Mrs. Grace Havering lived with her at Rookswood as Miss Arcilla's governess.

Lady Elosia wanted Mrs. Croft to pack some of Evy's things and come and stay with her in the alcove beside Evy's chamber. Although Mrs. Croft wouldn't come out and say so, she had long considered Evy like a granddaughter. She had loved her dearly from the time Evy was in braids and would sneak into the big rectory kitchen for freshly baked scones.

Now sitting off by herself in the Rookswood parlor, Mrs. Croft looked up from her wet handkerchief as Dr. Tisdale, a tall gaunt man with a two-inch-wide silver bar mustache, was gravely answering Lady Elosia's question. Mrs. Croft had been so upset, she hadn't heard what the question was.

“As to that, Lady Elosia, I cannot say. That will be for experts to decide. Whether Evy ever walks again is too early to determine. We'll
know more as we observe her recovery, which, quite frankly, might be rather slow, given the seriousness of her injury.”

Mrs. Croft choked back a sob.
Never walk? Oh, the cruelties of life
. Dr. Tisdale went on to state that Evy's back was not broken, but although he could not prove it, he believed there was damage to her spine.

“She will benefit from treatment I cannot give here in Grimston Way. She will need to go to a hospital in London.”

“This is, indeed, a great tragedy,” Vicar Osgood said. “But we must trust God's good providence in all this. Not to say we take this lightly. No, not at all.” He was short and plump with a shiny scalp. “We should at least try to contact any of Evy's direct relatives.”

“Yes, a shame,” Martha Osgood said. “Such a lovely girl like that, alone in the world and without mother, sister, or even an aunt of blood to step forward to care for her. We simply
must
do something, Lady Elosia. I always did think it a trifle unhealthy for her to be living alone in that cottage.”

“Not to say Grimston Way isn't a perfectly safe and secure village,” Sir Lyle said flatly, as though his squireship were being faulted. “It's not as though she lived in the East End of London where thieves abound thicker than rats.”

“Oh yes, surely,” Mrs. Tisdale nodded vigorously. “Quite safe. It would be scandalous if it wasn't, wouldn't it? I mean, my dear Alice grew up here. Such a
splendid
child she was. And now she's off in that savage land of Africa—I do hope Derwent discovers gold—”

The squire stood, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and frowning, looking nothing like his handsome son Rogan Chantry, Mrs. Croft thought.
That scoundrel, Rogan. Ought to be here now at a time like this
.

Sir Lyle looked somewhat embarrassed by Mrs. Tisdale's little speech. Of course, it had nothing whatever to do with poor Evy. Mrs. Croft turned an irate glance on the doctor's wife, but the poor woman seemed not to notice that the squire had cut off her rambling. So like
Mrs. Tisdale. Always bragging silly like about that Alice Tisdale, now “Mrs. Derwent Brown.” Mrs. Croft shook her head. Dreadful mistake, that was. Alice had stolen that decent boy right from under Evy's nose. Shameful, it was. All so he could go looking for gold in Africa. Such piffle.

“Her accident had nothing whatsoever to do with being alone in the cottage,” Sir Lyle stated.

“Of course not.” Mrs. Tisdale seemed to shrink like a fading rose beneath his gaze.

“We should make certain a rail is put on those attic steps,” he told Lady Elosia.

“They
are
steep,” Lady Elosia said with a frown and a shudder. “Poor child. The thunder and lightning must have startled her.”

Vicar Osgood nodded in agreement. “Nonetheless, Martha has a point. Evy ought to be with family.”

Martha Osgood nodded. She was a slight woman with graying hair and patient ways. She sat still, her wrinkled hands folded quietly on her lap. She seemed to watch the squire with compassion, Mrs. Croft thought.

“Not that we haven't tried to be her family,” Vicar Osgood said. “We even invited her to live at the rectory and take her old room, but she wouldn't hear of it.”

“Too many memories, no doubt,” Martha said.

“And an independent spirit,” the squire added. “Trouble is, Vicar, Evy has no blood relatives in England.”

“It's such a grief Grace Havering died so young,” Mrs. Tisdale said. “A fine woman. Treated Evy like her daughter.”

Lady Elosia stood, all six feet of her, with a dignified lift of her head, her gray-gold hair smoothly wrapped into a chignon. She seemed to have had enough of the confab and took matters into her own hands, as usual. She touched the diamond brooch on the bodice of her pinstripe satin blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves.

“We will need to contact Julien about Evy's unfortunate accident,
Lyle. There's no way around this. She ought to be placed in a London hospital. She will need money for her expenses.”

Every head present in the little confab appeared to turn her way, including Mrs. Croft's.
Sir Julien Bley in Capetown? Now why would Lady Elosia be saying that? Miss Evy is no relation to that evil-looking Julien with his one eye and black patch
.

“Don't you think so, Lyle?” Lady Elosia urged when the squire was silent a moment too long.

He turned toward his older sister, and it seemed to Mrs. Croft that he sighed.

“Yes. But there won't be a need to wire him. Anthony's in London.”

“Oh? Well, tush,” Lady Elosia said, brows lifted. “Of all things. And I didn't know.”

Lady Elosia knew just about everything there was to know, thought Mrs. Croft.

“And he hasn't called at Rookswood?”

The squire cleared his throat. Immediately, Mrs. Tisdale's hungry eyes were alert and interested.

That got her hair prickling. Soon Mrs. Tisdale would be gossiping, asking questions about why Anthony Brewster didn't call at Rookswood, and suggesting reasons she knew nary a thing about.

“He's at the diamond-cutting business,” Sir Lyle told his sister.

“Ah, well,” Elosia said reflectively. “That rather explains things. Then Anthony can wire Julien.”

Mrs. Croft noticed that Mrs. Tisdale's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

In the meantime, Lady Elosia decided that Evy would remain at Rookswood and that Mrs. Croft and Lizzie would tend to her needs. That was just the way Mrs. Croft wanted it.

“I'm certain Julien will have something to say about this tragedy, as well as its aftermath,” Sir Lyle stated.

“Quite sure,” Lady Elosia said.

Rogan strode up De Beers Road scowling to himself over the disturbing turn of events.

“Mr. Rogan!”

He stopped and turned. A familiar young man, slim and wiry, with russet hair beneath a floppy hat came hurrying across De Beers Road and caught up with him, grinning widely. He stood shaking Rogan's extended hand.

“Am I glad to see you, Mr. Rogan. This is a grand surprise. Thought you wouldn't arrive for more'n a year. Was just on my way up to the Blue Diamond to wait for you.”

Derwent and his wife, Alice, had arrived in Capetown a short time after Arcilla and Peter married and sailed to the Cape. But even after a year beneath the African sun, his fair skin had refused to tan, except for the freckles on his gaunt nose, which had deepened into a toasty color. He was the same old Derwent Brown, and Rogan found himself relaxing and smiling at his boyhood village friend, hitting him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

“Good to see you've survived all the lions and snakes, Derwent. How is Alice taking it all?”

Derwent's nervous fingers removed his floppy hat and then put it back on again as he continued to smile.

“She's doing dandy, but missing Grimston Way, to be sure.” He changed the subject a little too quickly. “I daresay I was mighty surprised to get your message this morning. So was Alice. This is good news, sir! We're both hoping you'll come to supper tonight.”

“I'd be glad to come.” Rogan strode along toward the hotel, and Derwent's long legs kept up.

“I just left Parnell at De Beers Consolidated Mining Company. Do you know what's on the wall?”

Derwent looked suddenly dismal. “Aye, sir, I saw it…a map, drawn by Giles Mornay.”

“Aye, indeed,” Rogan countered curtly. “The very man I've been telling myself I'd hire for the expedition north. And now what do I discover on my arrival?”